Forever the Sickest
by XxDailyDreamxX
Summary: Ivan has taken Alfred and Arthur hostage in his own private basement torture chamber. Both countries have no way of getting out and are forced to suffer Ivan's "games" when he "plays" with them. Warnings: Torture, blood, gore in future chapters.


Is it wrong to wish to kill? Is it wrong to wish to cut someone's flawless skin and leave read lines of life? Is it wrong to want to hurt people in so many ways, making their perfect bodies mangled and maimed? These thoughts plagued the Russian's mind as he cleaned his faucet pipe of the blood that stained it. With a childish giggle, Ivan examined the now shining metal of his weapon. He skipped back downstairs to see his friends. They were going to have so much fun today!

Huddled in a corner, Alfred cradled the sore and bruised body of Arthur in his arms. He refused to voice it, but tears trickled down his dirty cheeks and onto the bloodied clothing of the Englishman as silent sobs wracked his body. Hearing the screech of the rusted hinges opening, Alfred quickly attempted to compose himself and leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. He still held onto the unconscious Arthur like he was a lifeline and his breaths were uneven. Footsteps slowly approached the quivering American. '_Please think I'm asleep... Please think I'm asleep!'_ Alfred silently begged in his mind to whatever god may be out there. Lady luck, however, was not on his side.

A sudden splash of cold water caused the American man to yelp and sputter, his act failed. "Yay! You have awoken, comrade!" With a glare, Alfred attempted to spit at the Russian but he couldn't produce enough saliva and only succeeded in making a soft _puh _sound. Ivan giggled at his pathetic attempts to insult him and grabbed a fistful of the straw blonde hair. "It's your turn to be played with today. Yesterday Arthur got to have all the fun! And that isn't fair to my друзья if I choose favorites!" He smiled and dragged the American to the table by his hair and strapped him down.

Weak whines of protest that floated from Alfred's mouth were silenced with a cloth gag that was wrapped tightly around his mouth. With a chuckle Ivan looked over to his tray that rested on a smaller table next to the surface Alfred was strapped to. He picked up the sharp instruments carefully and ran a gloved finger, tapping his foot in beat with the water dripping from the leaking pipes. Finally seeming to find a knife he liked, Ivan turned to Arthur and walked over to him. He grabbed his wrists and pulled him to a standing position and fastened the rusting iron shackles that were bolted to the wall on his wrists and ankles. Finally, he put a collar around his neck that prevented the Englishman from looking down or turning his face away.

Satisfied, he nodded in approval and walked back over to Alfred. His leather shoes clacked rather loudly on the stone floor. Alfred could almost feel his heart stop every time he heard the _clack, clack, clack_ of Ivan getting closer to his bound body. Seeing the smiling face of the platinum blonde looming over him made his blood run cold.

"Shall we play now, da?" The Russian asked whilst positioning the knife over the center of the blue-eyed man's chest. He held his breath as the cold metal brushed against his chest and shivered. The blonde man bit his lip and help back a whimper as the sharp blade sliced easily through his skin. He shut his eyes tightly when he felt the sticky red droplets bead along the cut the knife had created. Ivan giggled at Alfred's fear and leaned down to lick around the cut. He lapped at the wound. Alfred hissed in pain as he felt another cut being made close to his vital regions. Across the room Arthur whimpered and could only watch or close his eyes to his friend and beloved's suffering.

Ivan used the flawless skin as an art board. No matter how many times he hurt Alfred and Arthur, they would always be healed within a few days. It fascinated him how he could carve his drawings into their skin and with only a few days time all that would remain would be the slightest hint of a shiny scar if the cut had been deep enough, but even that was rare.

America threw his head back in pain and black spots filled his vision. Ivan had wrapped one large hand around his throat and the other hand was carving the soviet union symbol deeply into his chest, just under his right nipple. He grunted but bit his lip harder to hold back any other sounds. He refused to give this sadist what he wanted. Alfred could taste the metallic liquid of his own blood dripping in his mouth from cutting his lip by biting so hard on the cracked and chapped flesh.

Hey everybody. This is my first attempt at ever writing horror. Like, ever. Okay, so there was one time when I was younger but that sucked too. Please don't be too hard on me. Any advice is welcomed!


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